We sing lots of made-up songs, my daughter Iris and I. Since she was an infant, I’ve made up silly little tunes, as I’m sure most mothers do, to teach her the steps of getting dressed or to remind her how much her papa and I love her or to just keep my worrying in check.
EWOP is one of our favorites. The concept isn’t mine, but the tune is. “Everything works out perfectly,” we sing. “Everything works out per-er-fectly.” Over and over. It’s soothing and catchy and reminds me that I don’t need to control the world because however it goes, it’s going to be fine. Continue reading “Everything Works Out Perfectly”
A journey through the grief of miscarriage
I had the makings of a child in my womb for eight weeks and five days.
On the Friday before Thanksgiving, the pain and bleeding started, and I knew. I didn’t want to know, but there it was. It was the beginning of the end of a pregnancy I had longed for and rejoiced in. It was over before we even got to speak of it, and there was absolutely nothing I could do. Continue reading “I Will Be”
First time ever – my four year-old requested vegetable soup for lunch. This was after I told her three times that No, she could not have the leftover waffles from her breakfast. I offered her my home-canned tomato soup and she countered with vegetable soup. I’ll take it.
She helped get everything out of the fridge, chopped, stirred and seasoned the soup. It was SALTY, but when we sat down to our quiet lunch, she was engaged and made up a blind tasting game where we had to guess which vegetables were on our spoon just by taste.
It was a good way to get a daily dose of bone broth into her, and I haven’t enjoyed such a peaceful meal in quite a while. She ate well.
Celebrate the small victories, right?
Resorts are shuttered or getting close to it, now. Traffic has slowed. Boats are being pulled. And the leaves fall like manna for hunters and 4-year olds, though the end of our fall color is already nigh. We raked the biggest pile simply for her diving delight one day, and within minutes I found myself in it as well. I have fond memories of playing in the leaves as a child and it seemed only fitting to give her that same experience.
The portly black bears are braver now, scavenging closer and closer for their final meals. We smiled one morning to see our compost pile dug through and muddy black paw prints across our deck.
“Mom, do bears eat people?” she asked me on one of our dusk walks. Continue reading “Precious Life”
We walked today, picking fall flowers, dried seed pods and colorful leaves. Chattering like a busy chipmunk, she found pretty rocks in the gravel, drew line after line for us to race from, and marveled at the troops of soldier mushrooms. It was more a meander than a walk, but definitions matter not to a four-year-old. Her thoughts bubble over into words like a flowing well in the flat lands; there is no filter, no pause and the music of it all soaking the earth is innocent and pure.
And it never stops. Ever.
Even in her dreams she is talkative and loud. A social sleep talker, telling her stories and voicing her fears.
But it is a respite to tune into her world, letting it drown out my restless mind that takes eternal practice to quiet for even the rare millisecond. She is my practice. Continue reading “Mea Culpa”
Most mornings I wake up feeling pretty darn fortunate. Not all mornings, of course, but more often than not.
I’ve always had shelter, food and clothing. I’ve always been surrounded by people whom I love and who love me. I’ve faced very little adversity, loss or personal tragedy.
I’m a white woman in a democratic country. I’m college-educated. I’ve lived in metropolitan and rural areas, both by choice. I’ve traveled across oceans, tasted cuisines around the world, met people from all walks of life. I’ve danced in the desert beneath a complete lunar eclipse and rode white water that nearly killed me, just for the thrill of it. I’ve had time and resources to Create, in myriad different forms and at all different stages of my life. Continue reading “Lucky”